


Don't Leave Me Hanging

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Injury, M/M, Rescue Mission, Set just after s13, dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Long ago, Grif was taught that if you crash, be sure to leave a crater behind for the world to remember you by.Carolina disagrees.





	Don't Leave Me Hanging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [creatrixanimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatrixanimi/gifts).



He’d learned to drive the moment he’d been old enough to get his hands on a license, but it had been at the outskirts of the island, on the worn asphalt roads near the abandoned mall that he’d learned to truly _drive_.

And with _drive_ he meant that strange sensation of being one with the car – hands reacting by instinct, steering the wheel smoothly to make turns others thought impossible, and adding pressure onto the pedals to the point where the road became a blur, and he’d screamed in delight instead of fear.

Some people, like Simmons, knew how to “drive” – they knew the controls of the car and the traffic rules and they followed them, a little too well at times. Grif, on the other hand, knew how to drive fast enough to outmaneuver the cops.

Grif was proud of his driving skills. There weren’t many things he could pinpoint about himself and feel proud – not that it bothered him since he’d settled with mediocrity and even less since the day he realized that people would first demand something from you when they expected something from you, and that was just a vicious cycle that you should avoid– but he knew he could drive and he knew that he was the best.

He’d proved that much, back on Hawaii with Hale and the rest of the guys. All inspired by action movies, and driven by an adrenalin-hunger inside them, resulting in what the disapproving adults would probably describe as tests of manhood, some stupid games that teenagers would play if they were stupid enough.

Grif had been stupid enough, and he’d enjoyed it. He flipped up the ones calling him out for driving too fast – and then proceeded to get away from the area, in case they called the cops. He’d had enough problems to deal with.

Kai had laughed when he came home, saying he smelled like testosterone and burnt tires.

There’d been girls in the gang as well, just as snarky as the rest of the bunch, and along with the others they’d thrown some sharp comments in Grif’s direction, but he’d learned not to care a long time ago. He smelled – all from the adrenalin, baby. He was fat – his true love was snackcakes, and this was how they liked him. He’s a stupid circus boy – hey, he hadn’t been in a circus for years, and who the fuck even knew where his mother was working right now? He, for sure, didn’t.

It’d helped when they’d finally see him _drive_ , when he’d beat Hale by turning the corner sharply enough for two of his wheels to leave the asphalt for a moment.

His car hadn’t been the best since there was only so much you could afford with a paycheck from the local corner store, especially after the rent had been paid and he’d made sure Kai would not go hungry. But he was far from the only one driving a rusty vehicle.

Some of the drivers had fancy accessories and fancier engines that purred that a puma and awoke a flare of longing and envy within Grif whenever he heard it. But he could hardly complain – it was the rich kids’ money that kept the races alive, and it quickly became the races that kept Grif alive. He could deal with them showing off, even though it was still annoying as fuck.

A mix of pride and adrenalin and the very much appreciated award in the end of each race kept his heart beating steadily as he added more pressure to the pedal and passed by another participant. They’d been warned beforehand of the dangers, but Grif never really understood that fear until the day one of his tires blew and the vehicle had spun around, out of his control, and the world had become a spinning blue color until it had finally come to a halt on the nearby field.

Grif hadn’t died that day – _obviously_ – and he’d just ended up as a sore loser of the race, now with a beat up car and no award to bring home. Lucky him.

“If you crash, be sure to leave a crater behind for the world to remember you by,” Hale had advised him the first day he showed up at the mall, urging him to drive faster.

Grif later learned it was his cousin who had made an unfortunate maneuver the year before, and had drove off the cliff to disappear in the water. Kids still dared each other to dive down and touch the wreck, looking for the lost skeleton. Kai had tried it once with some friends, until Grif told her to stop being foolish. He hadn’t worked his ass off to keep her alive, only for her to drown when he wasn’t looking.

The crash was a legacy, at least for this part of the island, the so-called wild youth with their immature minds and foolish ideas. Grif knew that if he crashed and didn’t make it, the news wouldn’t describe it kindly. He’d just be another foolish teenager, driven by bad influences, who threw his life away in an idiotic stunt with no care for his future anyway.

He could almost see the headline: _“Local nobody gets himself killed, finally, and no one could care less.”_

That was perhaps the thing that scared him the most. He feared death, naturally – he wasn’t a fan of pain – but knowing Kai would be told that he didn’t care, about his own life or about her, that he died recklessly without thinking of what was left behind… It wasn’t the truth, but that was what she’d be told.

So Grif made sure he didn’t die, and he kept that strategy going, even as he’d been drafted.

A drill sergeant back in Basic had once told him he would die as a good-for-nothing meatshield, and Grif had figured that might be the case but the UNSC would at least embellish his death in the letter they would send to inform Kai. They’d always made a big deal out of portraying the soldiers as heroes and martyrs. Maybe Kai would be told he died fighting off a super alien or carrying a wounded teammate back home. Something like that. Better than dying by being a stupid teenager who didn’t give a shit.

He’d never planned to leave a crater behind – physically and figurately speaking. It sounded like too much effort. He wasn’t going for a big title or status or memorable sacrifices.

But on Hargrove’s ship he’d figured that was the crater. They’d be remembered for this. Super dead, but remembered and honored and there’d be stories about them and all that shit.

Big stupid heroes that saved an entire planet. Not a bad way to go. Kai would at least extra proud of him – though still super pissed about him dying in the first place.

But, low and behold, they hadn’t died. Well, Church had died. And his friends had almost died.

Kinda ironic, how Grif always got away unscratched. Not that he complained about being able to walk away from a battlefield without any major wounds, but still. It sucked to see your friends being carried to the ER.

Grif didn’t like to think about death, so it was more than a little frustrating that life kept reminding him about it. But his friends were fine. Recovering.

And Grif himself was more than fine, nothing more but a few green bruises left. He was well enough for Kimball to give him this mission. And Grif hated the smell of hospitals enough to say yes.

It was nice being behind the wheel again, instead of being firmly stuck in a hospital chair, watching your friends get their stiches checked and being handed their new dose of painkillers. Simmons hadn’t been particular talkative, not even after they’d been told that Donut was going to make it, so even hanging out in his room had grown tiring in the end.

Grif checked the coordinates Kimball had given him. Two more stops before he could head back home.

Chorus had made itself known after the battle, and help was on its way, but until the help actually arrived in the shape of ships filled with supplies, they had to survive with their own dwindling storage.

When Kimball had heard rumors of abandoned Fed bases filled with resources, Grif had offered to help. After making it clear that he wasn’t delirious with fever or having a brainbleed – “I get this is a big shock and all, but _geez_.” – but that he was indeed just being bored of sitting in a plastic chair that just made his ass sore, Kimball had given him a Warthog.

He checked the bases and reported back, so that Kimball in the end could send out a smaller ship to transport all the crates back home without wasting their previous fuel on the spots that proved to be empty.

So far he’d visited three bases. The first had mainly been filled with weapons, which wasn’t a bad catch, but you couldn’t exactly eat bullets. Well, figuratively, you could, but you’d just end up dead anyway. The second base had been empty, with a few skeletons in the corner that made his skin crawl. But he’d reminded himself that Chorus was safe now, and he’d continued to the third base which had been an uplifting sight. The crates here would help restock both their MRE and their medicine supplies.

Kimball had been pleased to know the mission had been a success so far. It’d help lift the morals, at the very least.

So now Grif was heading south, towards the fourth base. He’d taken off his helmet, letting a lit cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth, now when Simmons couldn’t bitch about it anyway. He leaned back in his seat, relaxing at the familiar rumble of the engine.

He wouldn’t exactly say he enjoyed the view. This part of Chorus was rather dry and barren, and the high, brown cliffs that loomed over him from his right just reminded him of the canyon back in Blood Gulch. He’d been here with Gold Team before, scouting, and he knew the environment here was rather levelled.

A few hundred feet to his left, the ground just ended, making a steep drop to the river far down below. Bitters had wasted his time kicking stones of the ledge, but they’d been far too high to even see the stones hit the water.

Matthews had let out a nervous squeal when Grif had told them he’d promote whoever succeeded in doing a cannonball from here.

Grif fished out a snackbar from glove compartment. He’d grabbed it from the latest base, and while he knew everyone needed that storage, he’d figured that him taking a treat for himself wouldn’t harm anyone. Besides, he was the one actually moving his ass to make sure they wouldn’t go hungry. He deserved it.

Plus, it made it worth it. Surgary snacks and free naps were the things that kept Grif going, if you asked him. Which had just made it even more annoying when he couldn’t seem to find a restful place back at the HQ. He’d spent most of his time in Simmons’ room, and even when the cyborg was sleeping, Grif just found himself staring at the unconscious patient instead of letting himself drift off as well.

The lack of sleep hadn’t exactly improved his mood or prepared him for when Simmons was actually awake and talking. The cyborg was stressed about Chorus’ supply situation, and he’d refused to listen when Grif had told him to stop worrying and instead just enjoy the fact that he’d been ordered to stay in bed all day.

That suggestion hadn’t worked well with the cyborg’s mood, and Simmons had just sneered some comments about Grif’s laziness. Grif hoped Grey would have Simmons’ new arm ready soon. Maybe that would make him smile just a little.

Unable improve his own mood by raiding the mess hall or by spending the day napping, Grif had chosen the option to drive instead. There was probably some irony hidden there. Somewhere.

Maybe when he returned today and told Simmons of how productive and heroic and selfless he’d been, he might stop looking so ghostly pale and smile a little, just once, so they for a moment could go back to pretending that things were normal and-

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it might be some of the scouting teams Kimball had sent out. While the battle was over, they still weren’t quite sure if all the enemies had been killed. Well, Felix was dead for sure, so that was something. Then there was Locus…

Grif frowned, unease making him tense. But if Locus was truly trying to kill him – which he had said he wouldn’t – then Grif would probably never had spotted him before he’d snapped his neck or shit like that.

He eased the pressure on the pedal a little, refusing to halt it as it would only reveal that he’d seen the activity. Instead, he slowly raised his hand to throw away his cigarette – and hold back a whimper since he still had some good minutes left with that rare treat – and put his helmet back on his head.

Just to be sure. Maybe these guys were friendly and… Who was he kidding? With his luck, this all just meant he was slowly being surrounded by remaining space pirates, watching him from the cliffs.

If he was lucky – and he’d put good money on the fact that he was never that lucky – then they were just watching him. However, if he was unlucky…

He pushed a button, still trying to drive as casually as possible. He could spin around – he knew he was able to pull off that move – and race away in the direction he’d come from, but every few second he spotted those little black shadows in his side mirror, and he realized they would open fire the moment he tried anything.

He'd _really_ like not to get shot today.

Grif wanted the advantage of surprise, and he knew he’d lose it if he waited long enough.

“Kimball?” he asked, satisfying with how his voice didn’t sound freaked out. He shouldn’t be freaked out. The situation was in a shitty stage at the moment, alright, but it hadn’t escalated yet. They’d made their ways out of worse situations before.

“Grif,” she replied after a couple of seconds. She seemed surprised. “Have you reached the new base already? I wouldn’t mind more positive news.”

“Uhm… Sorry?”

“It’s alright. Your last find should last us a week, at the very least-“

“Look, so- shit, I’m being tailed.”

“Grif,” she said again, voice turning sharp and wary in a split-second. She was scary like that.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Shit on a stick, there was the movement again. Further ahead, on top of the cliff. The black armor revealed them.

“Pirates are crawling all over the canyon. The one at the, uhm, Qehl River?” he said, hoping he got the name right. Who bothered to look at maps after the GPS was invented? “The southern one? I think they are preparing for an ambush.”

“Can you get out?”

Grif was really happy that Simmons wasn’t his passenger right now. He would have been beaming with smugness as Grif actually reached over to strap on his safety belt. The maroon soldier would always bitch about how Grif neglected to put in on while Grif reasoned that the belt was only necessary if you were planning on doing a barrel roll.

And, well, Grif wasn’t exactly sure how this would turn out.

“I’m gonna floor it,” he told her the same moment he added pressure to the pedal, and the Warthog lunged forward.

Kimball was yelling something but Grif didn’t try to focus on the words – he was just a little bit busy as the pirates now knew they’d been spotted. He’d been right, at least, if that was any comfort. They started to open fire the moment he tried to escape the situation.

Two bullets went through his windshield, pieces of glass flying all over and Grif ducked. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried driving before getting shot. Wash had shot the hell of out the windshield back when he’d tried to kill them. Grif had learned to dodge bullets instinctively, especially after joining Red Team.

One of the pirates jumped from the cliff after Grif raced past them, and he heard the sharp noises of bullets hitting metal as the enemy tried to take him out from behind.

Grif ignored him since another pirate had decided to leave the cliff to stand right in the middle of Grif’s path. It would only be, what, ten more seconds before Grif would smash into him? Which, honestly, wouldn’t bother him, except the fact that the pirate was currently sending projectiles right towards him.

He could take the chance and count on the pirate having a poor aim. It was tempting – Grif really wanted to hear that lovely sound of the jackass kissing him bumper. But, in a split second, Grif’s hands turned the wheel so that the jeep angled slightly to the right, closer to the cliff, and out of his direct line of fire.

Just a few more seconds, and Grif would be pass him, and then just another few seconds and the assholes would have run out of cliff when the terrain turned smooth. Then they could choke on his dust as he headed home to demand another four weeks vacation from Kimball. She’d had to say yes this time.

They’d suspected some of the remaining pirates had fled from the battle site, but after that they’d been kept busy with nursing their wounds and finding ways to survive the following weeks, and while scouts had been sent out to watch certain areas, there’d been made no direct mission to find the last enemies.

Kimball had talked about sending the Freelancers out, but Carolina was still… Well, she was in a _mood_. And Grif knew to leave her alone until she’d had her time to mourn. He didn’t blame her for that.

The pirate kept firing even as Grif raced past him. Not that it mattered. Grif kept his eyes on the path right ahead, dusty and rocky, and just a few more seconds and the pirates would lose their upper hand. Then he’d be sure to do some sways and turns, in order to throw off the snipers that could be hiding there as well. Easy. He’d done it before.

Hell, he’d survived the battle on Hargrove’s ship without a scratch. He was that lucky. Bullets didn’t mean shit, not when you’ve been shot at since the first day you stepped into your new base.

A little bit further. Then he could head back home, back to Simmons who was still stuck in his stupid hospital room with that stupid, gloomy expression, and Grif could tell him what a big hero he’d been today, how selfless and smart, and shove it right into Simmons’ face-

Rumbling. A grenade, maybe? He barely had the time to think about it, and he turned his head just to see the boulder roll down towards him with an impressive speed, too quick for him to swerve the jeep or push the break, so it hit him.

Well, the side of the Warthog, to be precise. He’d be dead if he got that boulder right in his face. Not that it mattered.

“Shi-“

He didn’t even have the time to curse, and the situation definitely required some swear words, as the jeep was pushed to the side as if a tidal wave had hit it.

The world was spinning, metal creaking as the Warthog landed on its roof. It didn’t stop there but continued to roll. And continued. And continued.

At least, that was what Grif could conclude from how his world kept spinning in a blur, and his ears were ringing, and was Kimball still screaming at him? He wasn’t sure. Just the sound of metal giving out and glass breaking, and he closed his eyes, grabbing the steering wheel tighter as he tried to keep himself in one place but kept slamming into the side of the jeep, pain blossoming all over his shoulder, and he briefly wondered if he was going to leave a crater behind like Hale had said, but then the feeling of nausea overcame him and he closed his eyes and wished that the world would stop spi-

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Chorus didn’t have the same facilities as Project Freelancer. Naturally. It’d be a lie to say that she didn’t miss the training room with F.I.L.S.S. running the holograms and keeping track of her time. Later Epsilon would be the one to tell her when she broke her record but now…

Just what was she supposed to do now?

Kimball had introduced her to secluded room of the training yard, only outfitted with a single boxing sack hanging from the ceiling, the fabric faded and worn. It’d obviously taken some punches through the years, having dealt with frustrations before.

It felt solid under her palm, grounding, and she appreciated the sensation.

“Carolina.”

“Not now, Wash,” she said, keeping her eyes on the sack that was never able to dodge her hit.

A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, and before she could either shrug it off or accept the comfort, Wash told her, “It’s an emergency.”

“What happened?” she asked, letting her hands fall.

He gestured for her to follow, and so she did, walking down the hallways as he explained.

“Grif’s in trouble,” he began, which was enough for her to raise her eyebrows in concern. “Apparently there was an ambush.”

“ _Where_?”

“Quehl River. He let Kimball know he was surrounded. Then she lost all contact with his radio.”

Not a good sign. She fastened her pace, hurrying down the hallway alongside him. “Damnit. What was he doing out there?”

“Scouting for supply storage, apparently. He left his morning.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this mission?”

“Kimball said he volunteered. Surprising, I know.”

“And there’s been no further updates?” she asked, mentally crossing her fingers. But she’d already prepared herself for the no.

Wash lowered his head just slightly. “Kimball is still trying to gain contact. She asked me to gather a team so we can head out immediately.”

“Are they ready to leave the hospital?”

“Sarge was scheduled to be discharged later today. Simmons is actually fine, but his cybernetics aren’t ready. Donut still needs two weeks of recovery time, and Caboose’s leg is still busted, and Lopez still _doesn’t have legs._ Tucker is, well, physically fine but-“

“We don’t have to bring them along,” Carolina said. They deserved the rest. They’d earned that and so much more.

Wash turned his head to give her a stare. “They should know,” he said, voice low.

Carolina nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“Carolina,” he then said, eyes flickering, “are you up for this?”

She knew what he was hinting at, and she set her jaw. “Yes.” The hallway split into two directions. “I’ll find them. Go prep the vehicles.”

It wasn’t a long walk to the hospital, especially not with the pace she was using. Doctor Grey had been kept busy in the days after the big battle, but all staff members had been sure to give the Sim Troopers the attention they needed.

They were recovering well, thank god, and their spirits were slowly starting to rise, despite it all.

She hated being the bringer of bad news.

Her plan was to find Sarge first to let him know what was going on, so he could inform the rest of the team. Sarge was anything but gentle, but he knew his men. He would know how to break this to them.

Unfortunately, Simmons had limped into Sarge’s room, resting in a chair as he listened to his leader talking about how to beat hunger with pure strength of will. The cyborg’s pale face looked tired yet he still managed to keep up an interested façade.

Apparently, Carolina was worse at keeping a neutral expression than she thought, as Simmons only had to briefly look in her direction before his eyes widened and he asked, voice hoarse, “Grif?”

* * *

“He’s alive,” Carolina told Simmons as they sat in the jeep, one of her hands on the steering wheel and the other on the side of her helmet. “Kimball’s on the line with him right now.”

From the corner of her eye she watched Simmons fall back in his seat, sighing in relief. She fought the urge to do the same.

“…Can you repeat that?” Kimball asked over the radio, but the question was not directed at her but at Grif who still only communicating through the general’s channel. Carolina waited for him to answer and for Kimball to report back. “The jeep fell off the cliff,” Kimball then explained. “But miraculously, it caught onto something. The jeep is stable now, but he doesn’t dare to move. He’s stuck.”

Simmons inhaled sharply but said nothing.

“Wash, did you catch that?” Carolina asked over the shared radio. Wash was driving the Warthog next to them, and he raised a hand in the air as a silent reply. Tucker was in the jeep with him. Though he was still recovering from Epsilon’s sacrifice, he’d insisted that if bad guys were gathered here, he’d come along to beat them up. She couldn’t deny him that.

The Reds were travelling with her – the team now being reduced at Sarge at the machine gun and Simmons next to her. He was still lacking his left arm with the other one being tucked safely against his chest in a sort of embrace.

Sarge huffed loudly behind them. “Told you. The dirtbag isn’t that easy to get rid of. Trust me – I’ve tried.”

Carolina understood his hidden relief, but ignored him to instead tell Kimball: “Let him know we’ll be there in a few minutes. We’ll get him up.”

Wash’ voice could be heard inside her helmet a moment later. “I was warned of the area’s steep terrain. I got two harnesses packed in the back.”

“Clever thinking,” she said and added pressure on the pedal. She’d wished they’d be able to take a ship and get there faster but they’d been advised against it due to the surroundings that made a landing almost impossible.

And now with the new information about the situation, it was wise not stir up winds.

Simmons made a small sound that never actually turned into a coherent word. It was just a raw whimper of worry, and she almost regretted bringing him along. She’d argued against it in the first place but Simmons had been surprisingly persistent and had eventually just crawled into the Warthog by himself.

Sarge had put a hand on her shoulder and told her that Reds had better experience when it came to Grif being in lethal danger.

Carolina didn’t always understand Red Team, but she tried.

“Idiot,” Simmons suddenly cursed under his breath, and she knew that it wasn’t directed at anyone in the jeep at the moment.

When they arrived at the crash site it was eerily quiet, and she ordered Sarge to keep a lookout for pirates.

It was a relief, at least, that they hadn’t managed to kill Grif. She’d suspected they had either aimed to capture him for leverage or kill him for revenge. They should have cleared out the planets for pirates immediately. But instead, she’d been keeping herself busy in the training room…

“There,” Simmons said, pointing towards the destruction in front of them.

Even without the update from Kimball, it would have been easy to connect the dots.

The ground ahead was all torn up, with clear, deep markings leading towards the edge. She could almost imagine the crash taking place, where the jeep had bounced against the ground before continuing to roll closer to the awaiting drop.

Simmons was the first person to jump out of the Warthog, struggling to leave his seat for a moment due to his lack of arm. But finally he managed to pull himself upright and march towards the edge with quick steps. “Grif! Gri- _Holy shit_.”

The others joined him, tilting their heads to look down towards the river, and the jeep that was miraculously stuck to the cliff further below. From what she could see, it was a couple of sturdy branches that was keeping it from falling the rest of the way, but it was hard to see with dented jeep stealing most of her focus.

It’d definitely suffered damage during the crash, being reduced to a mess of crumbled metal.

“I wonder how many times he can pull that stunt before it becomes a cliché,” Tucker mused out loud.

“I’m not complaining,” Simmons huffed, hand shaking just slightly, as if forcing himself not to reach out.

“I am,” Sarge huffed. “That was a perfectly fine Warthog.”

Wash finished securing the end of the cord to the nearest jeep, and he walked over to them while holding out a harness with his hand. “Who wants to go down?”

Simmons made a small noise, and she knew that he wanted to volunteer but his current disability prevented him from being the biggest help. She had no doubt that Simmons would still be willing to climb the cliff – and make small complaints about it the entire time.

“I’ll go,” she said before anyone else could offer. She secured the harness around her armor, making sure it was tight.

Wash nodded. “I’ll come to.”

“No,” she warned him and continued to explain before he could argue against it. “I want as little movement around that jeep as possible. We don’t know how stable the situation is yet. But be prepared if I call for backup.”

Simmons was pacing back and forth near the edge, looking up in worry as Carolina prepared herself for the descent. “Are you sure it’ll hold?”

“Are you indicating I’ve gained weight?” she asked, one eyebrow raised behind her visor.

She could almost imagine Simmons’ face turning bright red as he sputtered, trying to find the right words. “I-uhm, _no_. Never! I wouldn’t-“ He keep shifting the weight on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. At least he managed to forget his other worry for a moment. “I just… Well, you have to carry Grif and that’s not exactly easy-!”

“Relax,” she told him before his voice could turn higher. “I’ll go get him now.”

For a second Simmons just stared at her, breathing in deeply. “Thank you.”

She climbed down with well-practiced elegance, pushing her legs against the rocky surface to securely make her way down to the jeep. She kept her distance until she was at the same level. For a moment she looked down to see the river far below: even if the jeep hit the water, Grif would not survive from this height, and neither would she if the cord snapped.

Slowly pushing herself to the right, she came closer to the jeep and what looked like it had once been the windshield. She kept a hand the side of the vehicle, metal dented and scratched, and looked in through the entrance for the driver to jump through.

“’sup?” Grif asked, voice strained. He was still in his seat, kept in place by the crushed metal. Even if he could move, he still kept his body rigid, one hand on the broken wheel.

“Grif,” she breathed out, closing her eyes in relief for a second. The metal frames around the seats had been bent and twisted too much for her to properly reach him. There was a passage just barely bigger than her head but not enough for her to maneuver through or somehow pull Grif out with her.

But she placed herself in front it, daring to put both feet on the wreck for support. It creaked loudly, and she saw how Grif’s body froze, going as stiff as a statue.

Carolina then realized that she, too, had been holding her breath.

But the jeep stayed in place, handling her weight. She shouldn’t have rushed into it, but she’d been focused on finding Grif, confirming what Kimball had told them, and there’d been no one on her shoulder to warn her about moving too quickly…

“So,” Grif spoke again, “this is happening.”

“We’re going to get you out,” she promised, and then she quietly wondered just how she would even reach him.

“That’s good,” he said, and he kept staring straight ahead, barely daring to move his head. She understood why he hadn’t reached up to change radio channels.

The jeep was angled with the front being tilted towards the ground, as well as the right side of the jeep leaning against the cliffside. It made it harder for her to get a proper view of the inside of the vehicle, but she realized the safety belt was keeping Grif in place, preventing him from sliding further away from her.

“Are you hurt?”

“Uhm, not really doing fantastic. But somehow not dead. That’s… awesome? Yeah…”

“What are our injuries?”

“Well, the Warthog is smashed so Sarge is definitely going to shoot me with his shotgun later.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see it. “Despite the obvious?”

“Uhm, right leg is… it’s pretty bad. Hurts like hell. And I think something nicked my side. There’s a lot of blood. Can’t really get a proper look of it, though.”

Normally she would have asked Epsilon to do a scan but now she made her own calculations. She wouldn’t call them good, but they had time. Grif sounded aware of his surroundings, and while his voice was strained he was fully capable of communicating. There must be some sort of pressure on the wound, slowing the bleeding, and she intended to keep it that way.

“We’ll give you treatment once we get you out of here,” she promised and leaned further in, seeing if the could get a proper view of the damage herself.

Her foot slipped.

Automatically she reached the metal frames, only the feel the entire wreck shift. She cursed under her breath and heard Grif do the same thing.

For a split second she was ready to let go, push herself away from the falling wreck, but then the creaking stopped. She could feel the metal move slightly beneath her weight, but eventually it seemed somewhat stable again.

She could almost imagine the branch slowly giving after, cracks appearing in the strained wood.

They had to move fast.

Carolina could not get a proper view of his injuries but if she tilted her head she could see the color red against orange. She moved a hand to her helmet. “Wash, I need to have Biofoam ready for when we get up.”

“Kimball just checked in – she can send out a ship with medical assistance.”

“No,” she replied, perhaps a bit harsher than necessary. “Tell them to keep their distance. The jeep isn’t stable.” The last thing they needed was for wind to disrupt the balance.

 “What does that mean?” Simmons’ voice suddenly asked, and she frowned – she hadn’t realized the Red had been on this channel as well.

She considered her words. “That we need to be very careful.”

There was a pause.

Then: “Is Grif okay?”

She could hear the cyborg hold his breath, but at least her answer would be somewhat positive. She knew Simmons well enough to know that this mission was keeping him on the edge. “Given the circumstances – yes.”

“Okay. Tell him that after this I will never be driving with him again. Ever.”

“Simmons says hi,” she told the orange soldier who was sitting frozen in his seat.

He turned his head just the slightest to look at her. “Tell him I’m wearing my seatbelt.” The smug tone in his voice was calming.

Getting a hold of the wrecked frames, she tried to pull to test the strength. In order to pull Grif up from the jeep they needed to make room. It would have been a simple task – had they been on stable ground. Not knowing when the jeep would fall complicated things.

“He says he’s wearing his seatbelt,” she told Simmons. Her hand brushed against broken glass.

“Oh.” Simmons’ voice was at least no longer high-pitched. “Tell him ‘I told you so’.”

Knowing that the two of them could bicker for hours – and how she wished they were in a situation where they could freely do so – and that they’d use her as the middleman while it was happening, she decided not to pass on the message. She had a feeling that Grif knew, no matter what.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here,” she said, tightening her grip on the metal.

“Simmons is here?” There was a disapproving tone to his voice, and it took her a moment to understand. He’d wanted Simmons to stay behind. And, in truth, there was no reason for the cyborg to be here. He should be resting in the hospital.

Instead he was probably pacing back and forth, trying not to let the anxiety overcome him.

He should have stayed. But she hadn’t been able to say no. She’d grown soft like that, through the years. Even Epsilon had commented on it.

She nodded.  “The whole cavalry,” she told him, keeping her voice positive. Donut and Caboose had asked to come along as well, but Grey had sternly told them to stay put. No need to fill up another Warthog with wounded soldier. “We need to make space.”

His helmet tilted in the direction of her, looking up through the tangled metal. “Are you going to bend them with your hands?”

“Do you think I can’t do it?”

“Pfft. You’re Carolina. You’re scary enough to bend metal with your glare.”

It was a simple statement. She was Carolina. It was true – even more so now when she was alone. Just Carolina.

She wondered what that meant.

Before she’d have Epsilon do a scan and tell her which pieces to move, but now she seemed to be choosing blindly, starting with what was closest. Not much else to do. She pulled, hoping to tear the metal pole free, but the surrounding frame seemed to follow along, and the entire jeep moved, shifted under that one movement.

“Shitshitshitshitshit-“

“Don’t move!” she told him and let go of the pole.

The creaking stopped so she could hear his panicked panting. “Right. You’re telling me, the one stuck, not to move!”

“It’s okay.”

The movement had stopped. She’d been the cause of this, but she’d let go and the jeep was still now. She’d made a mistake. She sighed, facing the truth. She’d made a mistake and it could have been fatal. As much as she wanted to punch their way out of this, the situation was too unstable. This wasn’t working.

“You know,” Grif said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I’m like the opposite Meta. We both fell off a cliff with a Warthog but he died while this thing saved my life. For now. I always liked cars.”

She recognized his rushed voice and understood his need to talk to distract himself from the awaiting doom below them, but being reminded of Maine and all the friends she’d lost through the years, wounds still fresh, just made her focus falter.

She opened the radio channel again. “Wash, I need you to send Tucker down here.”

“Tucker?”

He sounded surprised, and so did Grif who tilted his head towards her.

But she was sure.

“I need his sword.”

* * *

He supposed that from this height, despite being unable to look down, he’d made quite the crater at the impact. He supposed he’d follow Hale’s old advice after all, huh.

But he’d preferred not to make a crater at all.

Grif tried to find a somewhat comfortable position, but it’d proven almost impossible by this point. His leg had become a constant sore throbbing that turned into jarring pangs of pain if he tried to move it. He was pretty damn sure the bone was not supposed to be twisted in that direction…

Perfect. Even if he survived – and that was a very big _if_ there – he’d be stuck with a stupid cast on his leg. Caboose would make drawings on it, and Sarge would probably use it to write death threats, and perhaps Simmons would try to scribble the entire number of Pi on it…

Still. It was the preferred option here.

He closed his eyes when he felt the jeep move again. Or maybe he just imagined it. It’d been a constant paranoia ever since he’d woken up with a splitting headache. He didn’t even dare to move his arms, and it’d been a miracle he’d even manage to answer the stressed Kimball on the channel.

As much as he’d like to talk with Simmons right now, he didn’t dare to raise his arm and change channel.

It was probably for the best. He was pretty sure that if he talked with the nerd he’d begin to cry or hyperventilate or stupid shit like that.

So he stayed put – because what the fucking else could he do – while holding the steering wheel tightly in order to keep himself upright. He could feel the gravity trying to drag him down his seat, but the straps were tight against his armor.

Even the ache in his side seemed manageable as long as he didn’t move. Staying put seemed like the perfect plan. It required little effort from his side. Plus his life had sadly taught him to get used to pain by this point.

He sucked in a breath and tried to look upwards. He wondered if his friends were at the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. At least, that was what Carolina had hinted at.

He wasn’t sure what to feel about his friends coming along. He supposed he should feel touched and grateful and all that, but a part of him wished they’d just stayed at the fucking hospital.

Especially if…

“Yo, Carolina?” he said, and the vibration of his throat seemed make his side flare up again.

He could see the faint blue armor through the metal. “Yes?”

“You should get Simmons out of here. Give him a calculator to play with or something. He doesn’t… handle tension that well.” He breathed in deeply. It hurt. Fuck it. “Just in case. You know?”

Carolina was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He decided to stop thinking about it in order to soothe his headache.

“Sarge, I need you to patrol the area, make sure the pirates aren’t returning. Take Simmons with you.”

It helped him breathe. Just a little bit. He tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff. “Hey, if they see the assholes, make sure they kick their asses. And tell them I’m not dead – so fuck them!”

Carolina’s golden visor became visible again. “They were at least… _eager_ in their attempt to take you out.”

No shit.

He blinked, trying to recall what had happened after the world had become a blur. “I don’t think I was supposed to roll all over the edge? I don’t know. But at least they didn’t try to follow me or anything.”

“I’d be impressed if they did.”

Grif tried to ignore the way his fingers had begun to shake. Positive thoughts, right? Like that party Tucker had kept talking about, the one they had to hold after they’d all been thrown out of the hospital. To celebrate winning.

And being alive.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

“Alright, Tucker should be here soon.”

The words should probably be comforting, but another worry just filled his tired mind instead. Headaches sucked. “Wait, how am I going to get up from here?”

“I’ll carry you.”

He pursed his lips before speaking, “Uhm, I just want to point out that I’m what they call heavy…”

“I’ll manage.”

Oh god, had he just offended her? He was relying pretty damn heavily on her right now. It wasn’t her fault that he was weighed a lot. Or that people had tried to carry him before – and failed.

He brushed old memories away. Cliffs had never really been his friends. “Hey, I’m not questioning your strength or anything. I’m just saying I’m fat.”

“Don’t worry.”

The Warthog creaked again.

Grif worried. A lot.

“I heard someone ordered a swordfighter?” a too cheerful voice said, breaking the silence. Grif was almost grateful.

Then the jeep shifted again. “Tucker,” Carolina warned him. “Be careful.”

“Where should I put my feet-?”

He apparently put them the wrong place, since the entire fucking Warthog tilted slightly again. He tightened his grip on the broken wheel, wincing when he accidently moved his leg. “Hey, would you stop that? I’m still inside!”

“It’s okay. It’s stable. Tucker, come closer – slowly.”

An aqua color. “Hey, Grif.”

“Hi,” he said, unsure of what else to reply. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say. But it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. Shit, he was going to nap once they were done with all this rescuing.

“So, Simmons told me to let me know that you’re an idiot and he’s going to push you off a cliff if you do this again.”

Yeah. That sounded like Simmons. He wanted to smile. “Is he trying to steal the pirates’ job now?”

“You bet on it.”

“Focus,” Carolina’s voice cut them off, as stern and terrifying as always. “Tucker, I need you to cut this piece off. Here, down at the bottom. We need to make enough space to pull him out.”

Grif heard the familiar noise of the sword being turned on.

“Here?”

“Yes.” Carolina talked to him again, “Sit tight, Grif. It’ll only take some minutes.”

He opened his eyes, doing his best not to look down at himself. He was pretty sure the red had spread. It hurt. “Can I nap? A nap would be awesome. Just wake me up when you guys are done-“

“ _No_.” Somehow, she managed to sound even sterner than before. “Stay awake and keep talking. It won’t be long.”

“Pirates weren’t in the job description,” he said weakly, bitterly. This was definitely not how he’d imagined spending his day.

“We’ll deal with those later.”

“Did Kimball-“ He ended up trailing off, forgetting what he’d even tried to say. His side was throbbing in a steady rhythm. The surrounding areas felt almost… tingling. It was weird.

He faintly heard the others discuss just how they would proceed to make their way towards him, where to stand and which pieces to cut. He decided not to listen closely. He was too tired. If they wanted his comments, they should ask him directly.

He’d probably say that he didn’t know. Or that things sucked. Those seemed to be his standard answers to everything.

Suddenly a faint glow lit up the tight space. He turned his head, seeing the tip of Tucker’s sword cut through metal. Sparks flew from it, but he didn’t move to dodge them.

A moment later Tucker pulled the piece free with a satisfying _clank_. “Uhm, where should I put it?”

“Just drop it,” Carolina said shortly.

Apparently, Tucker followed orders.

“Holy shit, that’s a long way down,” he said, followed by an impressed whistle.

In a way, he was happy that he couldn’t look down. Well, he could technically tilt his head but then he just saw the floor of the jeep and the blood trickling down his legs. It wasn’t really a good sight, either.

“Good to know,” Grif said.

He knew he was high enough to leave a crater. Well, unless he landed in the river. Not that the thought was any more comforting.

He supposed that, in a way, he’d make the crater no matter what. A big, deep, metaphorical one.  Chorus wouldn’t forget. Well, for some he’d probably just be remembered as _the orange one_ , or _the fat Red_ , but it still counted. One of those idiotic heroes that saved them.

So, maybe he died a week after the big battle. It did make his death a lot more pathetic. No giant boss bottle or anything. Just the remaining pirates outsmarting him.

But still. It didn’t take away the rest of the glory. There’d be a crater.

And he was sure the others would tell Kai a good story about how he went. If she…

He didn’t really want to think about Kai.

The others continued to work. The hum of the sword had become a constant background noise. A few more minutes, Carolina had said. Grif could wait that long. He was used to waiting. It didn’t require much effort.

“This one?”

There was the faint glow again, making his orange color all wrong and the red...

Simmons. Fucking stupid Simmons just had to come along. And then he couldn’t even be here. He was at the top of the cliff, and Grif was dangling down here, and he couldn’t even see him, and he really wanted to-

Something exploded in his side, and Grif screamed.

* * *

“Grif!” Carolina called out, trying to gain the attention of the orange soldier who continued to squirm, moaning in pain. “Tucker, what did you-“ She turned her head to stare at the aqua soldier and froze when she saw the blood dripping from the end of it.

“ _Shit._ I didn’t mean to!” Tucker sounded horrified, dropping the pole. It fell, and they lost it out of sight before they could even see it land. “I just removed what you told me to-“

He was right, damnit, and that was the worst part of it all. She’d told him to remove it, to pull, unaware the other end had been inside Grif. She closed her eyes, trying not to let the imagination run free. The mistake had been made. Without the piece to slow the bleeding, the wound had just turned a lot graver.

“It’s okay,” she said, reaching inside the room they’d created. “Grif, speak to us.”

The orange soldier was doubled over, one hand clutching his side. “That… hurt,” he panted.

“Can you put pressure on the wound?” No response. “Grif?”

Something brushed against her shoulder. “I can-“ Tucker said before trying to reach Grif as well.

“Tucker, no!” she shouted before the entire Warthog tipped forward. It happened quickly, a part of the support must have given up under the weight.

She scrambled for something to hold onto. “Damnit!” she cursed, and she heard Grif grunt in pain as the belt tightened around him, barely keeping him upright. “Tucker, move away!” She didn’t warm him further as she pushed the aqua soldier off the jeep, letting him hang by the cord.

Tucker squirmed at the sudden loss of support, and he cursed loudly.

“ _Carolina!_ ” Wash yelled in alarm through her radio.

“Wash, help Tucker up,” she said before reaching out to push Tucker away from the jeep and towards the cliff wall, so he had something to grab onto. If he fell too…

He protested. “But I-“

“You did what you should. There’s room now. I’ll take it from here. Now, _move_.”

It took a moment before he began to climb, Wash helping by pulling the cord from above.

Then she was alone, feeling the jeep shake beneath her. It was more angled now, almost upright, but it hadn’t fallen. Yet.

“Grif? Grif, talk to me.”

“I didn’t sign Caboose’s stupid cast,” his voice was low and pained, and it was the last thing she’d expected to hear from him.

She frowned but didn’t slow herself down, brushing away glass and loose metal. A non-existing voice inside her head told her to hurry. “His cast?” she repeated.

He kept talking. Good. Even with his voice strained and almost shaking, it was a relief for now. “It has drawings and shit, all over it.”

“I didn’t sign it either,” she told him. “We’ll do that when we get home.” The entire construct creaked again. “I’ll see if I can do something to stabilize it.”

“Don’t go fucking under it!” he warned her, followed by another low groan. “Carolina?”

But she let go of the metal and fell for a split second, lowering herself down below the jeep. Now she saw that it had been saved by a ledge with a sturdy tree. It’d tried it best to deal with the weight, but she could see how many of the branches had already broken, and the rocky surface had begun to crumble. If it gave away, everything else would follow.

She climbed upwards again, latching onto the front of the Warthog as carefully as she could. “It’s okay. Can you move? Grif.” She reached inside, fingers brushing against his armor. “Grif, I need you to move towards me.”

“s’not…” he slurred, trailing off.

There was a moment of silence – and they did not have the time for that.

“Grif, you have to-“

“I’m easy to drop,” he suddenly yelped, voice rushed and panicked. “I- it happens. s’okay.”

She hadn’t been there during Sidewinder, but she’d heard the stories. It was enough.

“I won’t drop you. I’m Carolina - you said that. We’re strong enough,” she said as sternly as she could. She resisted groaning in frustration and instead she yelled, “So give me your hand and hold on!”

Fingers brushed against hers, and she almost sighed in relief.

Then he yelped, and the fingers tightened around her hand, painfully.

“Leg-“ he groaned, cutting himself out.

She let him grip her hand as the cramp in his leg continued. He held on with a surprising strength.

It had to be enough.

She felt it before it happened, the sudden shake of the vehicle that indicated it was a matter of seconds.

“Carolina!” Holding onto her hand, he tried to pull himself upwards, grunting in frustration.

She leaned down, looping her free hand around his armpit, and then hugging him tight. “Hold on.”

The jeep fell.

“Wash, pull us up!” she yelled through the sound of screaming metal, as the wreck fell around them. She heard Grif grunt when something brushed against his legs. But he held on tight, returning the almost-like hug that she didn’t have the time to think further about.

She felt a tug in her abdomen as the harnesses and the connected cord became the only thing holding them in the air. They spun around, and she kicked out, trying to face the cliff wall and get her feet against it, but Grif’s orange body was in her way.

She didn’t complain. She held onto him, grinding her teeth and looked up.

Helmets were peeking over the edge. Grey, aqua, red and maroon. They’d returned.

She was glad – relieved – that she could bring them something back. It was okay. They’d made it. She had – despite everything –

It was alright.

As the others slowly pulled them upwards to true safety, she suddenly noticed that the grip around her had disappeared, and the orange soldier hung limply in her grasp.

“Grif?”

* * *

“Thank you.”

There was a relief in Simmons’ word that matched his expression. There was no doubt that he still looked like shit, but the worried lines on his forehead and the constant lip-biting had disappeared. He was still pale, and an obvious exhaustion had settled into the dark bags beneath his eyes, but his small smile was genuine.

 “Happy to help,” she replied hesitantly, and wondered if that was the right way to put it. Helping them out had become more of a duty over the years, but a duty she was grateful to have. “Any updates?”

The yellow light in the hospital floors didn’t improve Simmons’ expression, but instead turned everything sickly-looking. But his tone was relieved. “Grey finished working on him some hours ago. He’s still sleeping. That has to be a good sign, with him being Grif and all that. He likes sleeping.” He blinked, rubbing his human eye with his remaining hand. “She says not to worry. They replaced the blood and patched him up. Just some new scars after all this. But I’m sure he’s used to that.”

They all were. Life as a soldier, as the Freelancers had sighed before, studying their new battle scars.

“It might be a while before his leg’s all fixed, though,” Simmons said and unconsciously licked his chapped lips.

She nodded. They could deal with that. The battle was, after all, over. Now came the rest they’d deserved. Of course they had to find the pirates that had been the cause of this, but that was a small task. “I think Caboose will be happy to have a friend to limp with.”

“Oh, he’s already offered to share his crutches. And drawn smiley faces on his cast.” His eyes flickered away from her for a moment, color returning to his cheeks for a moment. “You can sign it too, but maybe you want to wait until he’s awake.”

Carolina smiled back, appreciating the trust. “Do you know when that’ll happen?”

“Soon.” The smile on his face grew bigger, relieved and genuine. It brightened up his face. Suited him. She wished he’d smile more often. “I should go…” He then said, gesturing towards Grif’s room. His cheeks were reddened with an embarrassed blush.

For a brief moment she remembered waking up in a medical wing with York’s fingers intertwined with hers. “Of course.” She nodded. “I’ll visit later.”

Simmons slipped inside the room quietly, and she breathed in deeply. No one had received much rest over the night, even after they’d brought a bloodstained Grif to Doctor Grey. Pale and pulse weakened, but alive and improving.

Reds were hard to kill – Sarge had told her that after they wheeled Grif away. She believed him.

The hallway was quiet enough for her to hear Wash’ footsteps as he walked up behind her. “So,” he said, stepping into her field of view. “That’s enough adrenalin for today.”

“It’s been a tough week,” she said and resisted the urge to laugh bitterly. The grief was still there in her chest, sore and inflamed, but the relief from today had put a soothing layer on top of it so she for a moment could forget. “I’d say enough adrenalin for a year.”

“That sounds like a very long break. I doubt we’ll get ten months without some madness catching up with us.”

“Ten months sound wonderful.”

“You did good today,” Wash told her, smiling, and then quickly held up his hands and added, “Not that you don’t do that all the other days.”

She closed her eyes, sighing. “I couldn’t really afford to fail.” But she hadn’t. Mistakes had been made, but they had made it through. Even without _him_.

Wash put a hand on her shoulder and she didn’t flinch at the touch. “You know, Sarge has been talking about making you a Red. Said that you’ve earned it after all this. Even if the person you saved happened to be Grif.”

She chuckled at the thought, imagining changing the shade of her armor. Red had never really been her color. The hair would have to do. “That’d be something to keep myself busy with.”

“You’ll be okay, Carolina,” Wash told her with a short nod. He understood.

And now, after today, she thought that, maybe, he was right. “So what do we do now?” she asked, for the first time speaking the question out loud that had haunted her ever since she lost her brother.

Wash met her glance, unflinching. “We’ll make sure they stay okay too.”

“That’s quite the job, Wash.”

But it was worth it.

Carolina stepped a bit to the right, looking inside the hospital room to see Simmons sitting at Grif’s bedside, holding him with the one hand he had left.

Two mismatched, sleepy eyes blinked before making eye-contact with her.

She smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> For my wonderful friend Creatrixanimi. I suppose it's way too late to be a Christmas gift, so let's call it a "i'm sorry gift" for all the horrible puns I make every day. I don't know how you survive. But when I got an idea for Grif whump and Grif and Carolina friendship, we both knew it was perfect for you.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Sorry if the next updates are slow - another exam starts tomorrow and it lasts 4 days. Sigh.
> 
> As always: English isn't my native language so I'm sorry for any mistakes I didn't catch, and you find me as riathedreamer on tumblr if you want to say hi!


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